Where on Earth has the most artists?
Not Paris, the so-called art capital. Not London, with its centuries of cultural pedigree. Not even Los Angeles, home of Hollywood. No—the money-reeking city of sin itself: New York.
Of course, "artists" deserved some pretty aggressive air-quotes here. More accurately, New York had the highest concentration of street artists on the planet.
From Fifth Avenue to Eighth Avenue, every evening, countless street performers lined the bustling sidewalks. They hauled out their shabby equipment, dressed in outfits that ranged from eccentric to outright deranged, and performed their signature acts for whoever happened to walk by.
Central Park—Manhattan's lung, crossroads between the East and West Sides—was even more packed. Tourists everywhere, buskers on every corner.
President Maya hadn't just come up with this on a whim. She knew perfectly well that her classmates' meager talents, measured against jaded New Yorkers who'd seen it all, were basically nothing. Especially with a bunch of insanely talented street performers right next door for comparison.
Plenty of those buskers were every bit as talented as the performers at major concert halls. They just never got the break.
But Madam President wasn't trying to embarrass her classmates in front of Manhattan. She had a performance of her own lined up, and she had her pride.
The thing was, Americans had a fundamentally different attitude toward student performances. They were insanely supportive. Take the example everyone knew: college basketball. Were those college kids really better than NBA players?
Of course not. College basketball was slower, the talent gap wider, the intensity nowhere near the NBA, and the entertainment value miles behind. Yet every March, the NBA voluntarily yielded the spotlight to March Madness—and the tournament's TV ratings regularly topped the NBA Finals.
It wasn't just basketball, either. College football, volleyball, baseball—student competitions across the board were wildly popular with audiences.
And speaking of Maya's little talent show: did anyone think her school was the only one performing in Central Park today?
Ha. Besides Maya's group, two other elementary schools had shown up. They weren't even Manhattan schools. They'd woken up at the crack of dawn, piled onto buses from across the city, and made the trip over—thrilled to bits.
Of course, Maya's school and the others were all broke. Central Park was famous, packed with tourists, and free. Everyone was just here to cash in on the foot traffic and score a free venue.
In contrast, those small-town middle schools held their annual talent shows at the best theater in town. Local bigwigs showed up to cheer whether or not they had a kid on stage. Hollywood movies loved that scene—the devoted cop who missed his daughter's recital because he was chasing bad guys.
Anyway. The private-school rich kids rented out Broadway theaters for their events. Maya's crowd was too poor for that, so they'd brazenly camped out in Central Park instead. Incidentally, Peter Parker's high school graduation ceremony? Also held in a park, right by the East River.
As a local, Maya did score some perks. Their venue was on the lawn beside the central lake, and the scenery was frankly gorgeous.
Neatly trimmed grass ringed by a half-circle of willows just starting to bud. The lakeside was studded with ornamental boulders and rockwork. An intoxicating warm breeze carried the faint scent of flowers. Clusters of visitors lounged on the grass, soaking in the spring sunshine and watching the performances. Every time a student finished their act, the crowd broke into enthusiastic applause.
Today, Maya wore a white sundress with a tiny floral print. Her long hair was swept into a single high ponytail, tied with a wide purple ribbon that left her smooth, full forehead on display. On her feet, a pair of slightly worn white leather shoes. The whole package: delicate, charming, fresh, and pleasing to the eye.
These Americans really did go out of their way to encourage kids. Even Matthew's poetry recital earned wave after wave of applause. At this rate, the talent show was shaping up to be a smash.
One note: the stage wasn't actually set up on the grass. The platform and the diesel generator were both placed on the paved path bordering the lawn, so no turf was harmed in the making of this show.
When the emcee announced that the next performer was Jamal Lyon from the lower grades, Maya knew she was almost up.
Jamal performed a rap his dad, Lucius, had written specially for him. Lucius's own catalog wasn't exactly appropriate for the occasion.
The lyrics in rap music—well, if you knew, you knew. Setting aside all the bragging about gold chains and flashy watches, some songs got extremely detailed about the, uh, physical experience of certain activities. Nothing left to the imagination.
One look at President Maya's immaculately tied ponytail told you everything you needed to know about her next act: violin. As Little Jamal delivered his last line, Maya was already backstage behind the curtain.
"...And now, please welcome eighth-grader Maya Hansen! Maya will be performing a violin solo of 'Blue Bird.' Give her a big round of applause!"
(Author's note: "Blue Bird" is a well-known insert song from Naruto.)
President Maya walked onto the stage in silence, waiting for a student council underling to set up her microphone stand, while secretly extending her senses to scan the audience's reactions.
"Who's this little girl? Pretty cute, I guess, but can she actually play?"
How dare they not recognize this President! Must be out-of-towners.
"You've lived in Manhattan for years and you don't know her. I just moved here for work—how would I know?" his companion replied.
Critical hit! 99x multiplier! Madam President's HP: −9,999!
Not ready to accept defeat, President Maya widened her sensing range and eavesdropped one conversation at a time. But the more she listened, the darker her expression became.
"Some unknown elementary schooler. It's fine, let's be nice about it..."
"Maya Hansen? Never heard of her. She's not Spider-Man—why would anyone know who she is?"
"Has this girl lost her marbles? She's just standing there staring into space!"
"That's just stage fright. Totally normal for a kid. Come on, let's clap for her—poor thing's trying her best."
"What's 'Blue Bird'? Never heard of that song."
"..."
It wasn't until the underling beside her gave Madam President a gentle nudge that she snapped back, her composure restored in an instant.
As the Marvel world's very own ninja with a PhD, now in her final year of elementary school, Maya decided it was time to bring this one out.
What the audience saw was a beautiful girl, almost elfin, lifting a violin gently to her left shoulder. There was no soft preamble, no gentle introduction. Her right hand drove the bow swiftly and steadily, sending it leaping across all four strings at blazing speed. Black notes seemed to spring to life, leaping from the strings, transforming into blue birds spreading their wings and crying out.
The birds struggled, strained, shrieked—as if tearing free of invisible chains. They soared joyfully toward the blue sky, toward the white clouds, toward some promised land of freedom...
The listeners found themselves swept up in a sudden rush of emotion, an urge to become blue birds themselves—to slip free of worldly restraints and let their spirits soar.
By the time Maya finished playing, the audience still hadn't come back to themselves. Even the emcee didn't take the stage to announce the next act—clearly, they too were still spellbound.